


cracking lips

by FujiRouge



Series: Of Greens and Gold [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Bullying, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Self-Esteem Issues, Shy Harry Potter, Social Anxiety, Staring, Therapy, Tom's complete disregard for privacy, a lot of staring but this isn't twilight, implications of stalking, self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FujiRouge/pseuds/FujiRouge
Summary: Tom found the diary that belonged to a loner– Harry Potter.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Of Greens and Gold [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798438
Comments: 13
Kudos: 479





	cracking lips

Harry Potter was hard to describe. 

In all obviousness, he wasn't like any of the lions. He didn't boast around nor tried to show off. He was anything but loud or reckless, Tom wondered how he was able to go to Gryffindor by how un-Gryffindor he was.

Harry hid his face behind a book, nose almost touching the pages. He stammered like a fool when someone tried to talk to him and always embarrassed himself whenever the teacher called him out to read or to answer a question. 

He was good at exams and quizzes but not astoundingly so. He didn't have any charms– if anything, some people get annoyed at his too soft voice. 

If it weren't for his eyes, Harry Potter would just be plain. Eyes that were strikingly green, brimming with emotions that made his heart on glass display– a weakness of his any smart Slytherin could exploit.

Such a pity that eyes of rich emeralds were gifted to a person who couldn't be worth than a dime.

No one knew who Harry Potter was. He didn't talk to anyone. No one tried to talk to him.

Tom Riddle was the only one that noticed him.

It was odd, really. 

He was not remarkable. He did not have any sort of physical prowess nor had a large intelligence. His last name didn't have much value either. So really, what is there to know about someone who didn't even tried to be noticed?

Still, Tom watched and watched and watched.

And watching he only did.

"Mr. Potter, Can you please read the page out loud?" Mr. Flitwick asked.

Harry scrambled up, hip slightly knocking the desk and he blushed by the noise it created. He reached for his book, Tom noted how white and shaky his hands gripped the covers.

"T–the summoning charm is a– a–" Harry read it with no confidence, his voice abruptly softening till it was barely but a whisper.

Draco and the other Slytherins snickered under their breaths. 

When he was finished, Harry quickly sat down, and once again, hid his face behind his Charms book. Flitwick merely thanked the Gryffindor and Tom saw the slight pity in his face. 

While he was heading to class, Lucius and his other followers tailing just behind him. 

He saw Draco giving Harry a large noogie on the head, judging by the Gryffindor's wincing face– it was painful.

"Aw, Potter– that was splendid reading you did there!"

"T–the s–s–summoning charm is a ch–ch–ch–" Goyle mimicked, his voice high-pitch and exaggerated. 

Draco and his other goons laughed in chorus.

For a while, Harry stood in silence with his head ducked down, black hair covering his eyes and Tom was about to leave, he hated seeing people cry– they looked ugly and their sobs made his ear bleed.

But Harry didn't cry.

It went by so quickly. 

Harry slid his arm off of his shoulders then punched Draco's face with brute force. Startled, he fell down to the floor, nose dripping with blood. When he raised a hand to touch his injured nose, his eyes widened, skin turning ashen.

Harry took their stunned gazes as a distraction and fled the hallways, nearly tripping on his way out. 

"Just you wait, Potter! I'll have your head for this!" He yelled, "My father will have you expelled!"

Tom rolled his eyes by the other boy's whining, of course he'd bring his father into this. Draco should've seen that coming but then again, Tom didn't expect it too.

Harry rarely ever fought back. This was a start.

The next day, somehow McGonagall found out about the whole ordeal and gave the two boys a week's detention and owled their parents.

Cassius was annoyingly persistent today.

"You should try coming tomorrow, Tom. Quidditch is–"

Tom rolled his eyes, "You know how much I find the sport to be a waste of time." He said.

Cassius's face saddened, shoulders slumping in disappointment, "Oh." He only said.

Lucius laughed, "I told you– Tom would rather slit his throat than watch you fly a broom."

"Oh shut up!" Cassius blushed, "Not like you're actually any good at it!"

His words made Lucius stare at the other boy, legitimately offended. 

He didn't pay attention to their heated argument, not when his eyes slowly wandered to the empty seat near the wall. Lucius noticed where Tom's attention drifted to then sneered, "Potter isn't here yet?" He said.

"He usually comes to class really early, right?"

He also didn't fail to notice the empty seats that belonged to Draco and his so-called friends, Tom could guess why the group hasn't arrived yet.

On cue, Harry came into class– his appearance was nothing but a mess. His worn red robs wrinkled and creased, his raven hair was much more of a bird's nest than usual and the way he gripped his arm like it physically hurt him, Tom's assumption was correct.

He walked to his usual seat, completely crouching down to his chair before burying his face on his arms.

They slowly reverted their attention away from the seemingly asleep Gryffindor and talked more about Quidditch. 

Tom's eyes didn't waver. 

Harry sat four desks away in the front row of Tom. He watched how the boy's shoulders rose up and down from his heavy breathing. His hair sticking out from every direction, just waiting to be brushed.

The classroom gradually filled with more students. Noises growing louder by chatter and incessant laughter. Tom glanced at the students that were talking to their friends– Harry's rugged appearance and current position made him appear lonely.

He only ever interacted with Harry once. It happened a month ago.

Harry bumped into him while he was walking along the hallways, the force of their contact was enough to make the smaller boy stumble to the floor. 

Stretching out a hand to help as he flashed him one of Tom's charming smiles, he asked, "Are you alright?"

Harry raised his head, their eyes meeting for a brief second–sharp greens clashing hazel. He immediately stood up and fled. 

Tom's untouched hand was left dangling on the air, Lucius murmured, "What a weirdo."

At that time, Tom couldn't help but agree.

\---

After class ended, Slughorn came to talk to him again. It was the same compliments, the same gesture of encouragement on his back, and how Tom was the best student he had.

Tom absorbed all of what he said, the urge to smirk proudly was strong but he bites it down and only showed a modest look. 

He was about to leave when something caught his eye. A red book was left under the desk– the same desk that belonged to Harry. 

Tom pretended to drop something on the floor so he quickly kneeled and grabbed the book, Slughorn didn't mind him too much so it went down pretty easy. 

He left the room and headed to an empty spot. 

A golden lion was crested on the cover, red rubies, and swirls embellished around the symbol. It was beautiful. He opened the cover and flipped a page.

December 27, 1994

Mom gave me a never-ending journal as a gift (or diary?). It's beautiful. Meanwhile, Dad gave me a broom, he kept insisting that I should play Quidditch like he did when he was still in school, I've already made it clear that I'm not interested– the idea of playing in front of thousands of people made my stomach hurl. Thank God Mom told him off. 

Christmas dinner was fun. Sirius finally admitted to being in a relationship with Remus– finally, I was getting tired by all of their pining. I'm just happy for both of them. 

Snape is still scary though, we still haven't got along yet. I feel like he hates me sometimes, from the way he stares at me– maybe he already does.

This wasn't a book, Tom realized, but a diary.

Harry's handwriting was at least neat and polished. He constantly switched from normal to cursive writing, as if he wasn't sure which style of writing was better. 

Drawings were mostly filled inside– the diary acted more like a sketchpad. Tom observed a drawing of a Snowy Owl, Hedwig, it's name scribbled on the bottom.

The next drawing was an older woman– Lily Potter, Harry's mother. She didn't look anything like Harry, her smile was wide and eyes crinkled together softly.

James Potter, a nearly identical copy of Harry. They both share the same face structure, shabby hair, and round glasses– although Harry's eyes were much bigger. Judging by his slight smirk, James appeared more confident and broader than his son. 

The following pages were landscapes. Tom would find occasional notes written beside the sketches.

Tom placed the diary in his bag, he'll read it more later.

-

Harry looked distressed, more so than usual.

The poor boy played with his fingers or hair and checked his bag for at least the sixth time. Brows pinching together as small wrinkles formed on his forehead. 

Tom threw subtle glances at him. His amusement growing when Harry began twisting his fingers in a way that made it seem painful, but it served the purpose of distracting him.  
  
Once the day was over, he headed back to his dorm. 

First, he finished all his written essay and went to bed, closing the curtains around him. 

He skipped over a few pages he already saw and found another diary entry. 

January 7, 1995

I've never had a diary before, so I'm still getting used to writing about everything in my mind. Mom said this would be like therapy to me. 

Speaking of therapy, I finally agreed to it. Now, Mom's looking for a therapist. I'm kind of scared, to be honest, I barely say anything to my parents about myself– now I have to say it to a total stranger. 

I'm overthinking this, maybe it'll turn up fine, maybe not (knowing me, probably not). Either way, I should do this for my mom. I've already burdened her enough. 

Tom considered what he just read.

Judging by Harry's need of avoiding social interactions– Tom guessed Harry's suffering from some kind of social anxiety.

He continued flipping through the pages, momentarily gazing at some drawings (A dog and a wolf, vase filled with lilies and a boy with broken wings).

January 23, 1995

I feel stupid, stupid, stupid. 

I raised my hand on a question Mr. Flitwick asked but when I realized everyone was staring at me, my mouth suddenly clamped tight and I couldn't move. After a minute of silence, Mr. Flitwick told me to sit again. I heard someone called me a weirdo– weirdo.

I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have. Now I look like an idiot.

I'manIdiotidiotidiotidiotidiot–

The mantra of self-insults continued. 

Tom frowned at the repeating words, his handwriting was getting sloppier and horrible as it went on. He also noticed how the paper had some punctured holes in it.

He remembered that moment– it was the first time Harry raised his hand. Once Harry sat down again, Tom noticed Harry's quivering hands and eyes glinting on the verge of tears.

Pathetic, was what Tom thought. 

His eyes wandered on the next page. A lonely boy looking on a discarded mirror– an obvious symbolism Tom didn't bother to think. 

The pencil work was dark and messy, an intentional detail to match what Harry currently felt then.

A few pages in, there was nothing but more drawings (the back of a girl staring at a window, a bunch of hand gestures, some of Harry's teachers).

February 6, 1995

I found an injured cat roaming outside the castle.

His leg is broken, I went to Madame Pomfrey and told her to heal him. Thankfully, she did just that and told me it'll take a while for his leg to fully heal. I keep him in my room most of the time, he sleeps on my bed and stares at Hedwig (Please don't eat him).

He's very obedient– I think he has an owner but I'm not exactly sure. I don't want to name him. My Mom said that I shouldn't name things if I don't plan to keep it. 

The cat sleeps at my stomach and purrs. I'm glad his quiet, so I wouldn't disturb any of my roommates. He's nice. I like him. 

As Tom expected, Harry drew the feline. 

The cat had fuzzy hair and sharp eyes, Tom found more sketches of the cat sleeping on a pillow, stretching his arms and eating with Harry's usual comments on the side, (He's cute!, He keeps stealing my bed, I have fur all over my blanket). 

Tom always snickered at the side comments.

He closed the cover and placed it beside his pillow. 

He dreamed of fur and emeralds.

\--

Harry had drawn him.

Tom stared at a picture of him writing on a piece of parchment. 

In the picture, his eyes peered down at the table, lashes fluttered down, and lips tightly clamped together, expression lazy but focused. Harry added many details to his face with careful pencil strokes and shaded his wavy hair with his usual shading style

At the bottom, it read, 'Beautiful'.

"What are you reading?" Lucius asked him when he noticed Tom staring at the same page for a whole minute.

"Something," Tom answered, his gaze not leaving the pages.

He frowned at the symbol on the cover, "That looks so Gryffindor."

"It belongs to a Gryffindor student."

Lucius's eyes sparked, suddenly intrigued, "Really? Who's it from?" He asked. 

"Harry Potter." 

Lucius was loyal to him, he'll never do anything to disobey Tom's orders or spread his secrets, he already made his followers knew what he was capable of if they had the nerve to do it.

The pureblood's nose wrinkled in clear distaste, "Oh, the freak? I can't imagine there's anything worth interesting about him."

Tom ignored him, fingers lifting the pages.

February 8, 1995

I bumped into Tom on my way to class.

Lucius sneered at me– his disgusted face was the same as his twin. Although Tom just smiled and extended his hand. I don't why but I ignored his help and scrambled up to leave. That was a stupid thing do – especially to someone as powerful as Tom. I hope it won't come back biting me.

The way he smiled at me was a bit off– it wasn't genuine, that's for sure. He smiled like he had to, not because he wanted to. Somehow, that threw me off– I'd rather take a disgusted sneer than a fake smile.

He seems to do that a lot, especially when he tries to charm the teachers. All of that smiling must be tiring.

Tom frowned, was his mask slowly cracking?

He turned to Cassius who was staring at him the whole time, their eyes accidentally met. When he smiled at the pureblood, a faint color of pink reached his cheeks and Cassius quickly averted his gaze. 

Tom smirked at his reaction. No, that can't be the case. Perhaps Harry was more observant than he let on.

He didn't expect more drawings of him again. 

Each page dedicated to him. All of them were different and drawn from many angles. There's one where he was asleep, another in a side view angle of his bored face with his chin rested on his palm, but the drawing Tom was most fascinated with is the one where he had his lips curved into a lively smile– the same face as his but Tom felt like he was staring at another person. 

Tom could never smile like that.

Is this what Harry imagined what Tom would look if he truly smiled? 

February 20, 1995

I noticed that Cassius, Lestrange, Draco, and Lucius follow Tom everywhere. It was like they considered Tom as their leader. 

I can see why though– Tom is a smooth-talker and an intelligent student, he has a way of pulling people to listen to him. If he ever tries to be a politician, he'll grow into a great one for sure.

Something embarrassing happened and I'm even burning up as I write this. At the library, I was drawing Tom and a Hufflepuff student came from my shoulder and glanced at the drawing, immediately knowing who it was.

She didn't look weirded out by it– she even told me I was good at drawing. I never got her name though before she left. 

I've been staring at Tom a lot lately. I hope he doesn't find out I've been acting weird.

Harry stared at him? Now Tom was curious. 

When classes began, Tom made sure to carefully glance at the Gryffindor. 

He didn't turn to his direction, not even once. Harry appeared to be more anxious– ever since Tom stole his diary, he's been acting like someone will jump behind and kill him. 

Harry showed a habit of biting his lips and when stress levels overcome him, his teeth pressed more until he didn't even notice his mouth bleeding. 

Harry never stayed still, as if he had an unreachable itch. He always had to find something to keep him distracted. Either he was tapping his fingers on the desk or moved his leg in a quick swaying motion. He changed his sitting position every ten minutes and sometimes dozed off while the teacher was talking.

The boy had a lot of problems– Tom understood why his mother insisted on him meeting a therapist. 

Whenever the teacher turned his back, Draco throws paper onto Harry's head. A few snickered, others scowled at his actions and whispered the Slytherin to stop but no one actually tried to stand and took action themselves.

Tom observed Harry. 

Just as he expected, Harry's teeth scraped his lower lip and nails digging into his skin. His expression was carefully masked– he finally learned how to hide and control the glinting in his eyes.

A prick of irritation nabbed him. For once, Tom wanted Harry to act like a Gryffindor– brash and brave and to let his voice roar.

But he didn't. He's letting other people hurt him like a coward

Tom shouldn't care– but there was a part of him that wanted to curse the blond.

While Harry hurriedly packed his stuff, Draco walked over to him. 

"What's with the sudden hurry, Potter? Running away again with a tail between your legs?" 

Harry ignored him, simply placing his books inside the leather bag. 

His unwillingness to answer ticked the blond off, "What's wrong? It's very rude to ignore someone, didn't your mudblood mother ever taught you that–'

"Don't."

He didn't raise his voice– the way he said the word was simply cold. The devoid of emotions on his face made it even more chilling. Tom could feel the rapid magic swirling around the air– Harry was losing grip on his emotions. 

Draco noticed this as well and cautiously stepped back. 

Harry turned away and left. 

\--

Perhaps Tom had spend abnormal amount of time memorizing each sentence and drawing, his attention fully wrapped around it that Lucius began to suspect.

He gave him a strange look, "You've been spending quite some time with that diary. Is Potter's personal life really that interesting?"

"As interesting as watching a snail walk, I'm only reading this so I could use it against Harry, if I ever need something for the boy, of course." 

That was a good enough answer for Lucius, he smirked before he said, "Such a Slytherin, Tom." Before he went back to his studies.

March 5, 1995

At lunch, Draco and his goonies didn't leave me alone.

They cornered me and pushed me into the wall. They all laughed at me. I just wanted to scream at him. To hit that smirk right off his face. But I simply grabbed my stuff and left. 

I should've punched him. 

I hatehatehate myself. Why am I in Gryffindor when I'm not even brave enough to protect myself? Fake

Tom ignored some parts where Harry began to hurt himself with words. They were mostly nonsensical and repetitive and didn't add anything new.

March 13, 1995

I did it. I punched Draco in the face. 

He fell to the ground and stared at me with hate. My satisfaction was gone when Professor McGonagall heard the news about it. We both got detention for a whole week and a large decrease in house points 

She said she'll owl my parents about what I did. 

What should I do? I shouldn't have punched Draco but at the same time, I liked it. I'm horrible. I'm just as bad as him. Now my Mom will know just how bad I am. She'll hate me, Dad's already disappointed I'm not the son he wanted.

Ohgodohgod Is this gonna affect me in any way? I should've held back I'm so stupidstupidstupid–

The page had dried wet marks on the paper– Harry's tears. 

Tom scowled. Harry was weak and vulnerable. If Tom was in Harry's shoes, he would've done more than just punched him. He'd made them bow and grovel to the ground until they begged for mercy. 

Unlike Harry, Tom would be more cautious and be smart enough not to get caught. 

Tom didn't understand why he kept reading this diary. Nothing was interesting about Harry. He mostly whined and cried and sobbed. 

Most importantly, why was he getting irritated at Harry's situation on his behalf? Tom shouldn't care about a nobody.

He placed the diary back to his trunk then left the room, ignoring Lucius's questioning look. 

Tom walked around the castle. The thick clouds encased the sun's light, making the weather not too hot. His hair and robs danced around the blowing wind, some students waved at him with a blush– Tom replied with a coy smile. 

He enjoyed his silence. Someone often accompanied him where he went– either it was Cassius or Lestrange, both boys had an obvious crush on him and even if Tom found their feelings amusing, they served to be annoying when they couldn't take the hint that Tom wanted to be left alone. 

"Don't go too close to the water, you might fall." A soft voice whispered. 

A mop of dark hair, round glasses, and an awkward stance. It was definitely Harry. 

Tom decided to hide near a tree and whispered the Disillusionment Charm, knowing fully well that once he revealed himself, the Gryffindor would quickly scamper away.

Harry sat near the Great Lake with the same cat in the diary, a hand nuzzling on the feline's forehead. Despite being a few feet away, Tom knew the cat was purring.

"You've been getting fat lately," He giggled– a sound Tom compared to bells, "I should stop giving you meals." 

Harry turned to check his surroundings before sprawling on the grass, placing the cat who willingly climbed on his chest, "You're getting big, Night." He said, smiling when their noses pressed together. 

Tom stared at them. 

The clouds slowly parted away from the sun, bits of sunlight decorated Harry's face. His chewed lips were dipped up into a warm smile, cheeks popping up small dimples. Those soft green eyes which switched from caramel to green every time he moved, crinkled softly– Somehow, Tom saw a spitting image of Lily Potter.

They both had the same smile. 

Tom wanted to reach over the boy's face. To feel whether it was warm to touch as he imagined it to be. 

But his shoes remained planted on the ground and Tom stayed there till Harry left. 

\---

If no one was there, Harry most likely passed the time by relaxing near the lake. Sometimes he was drawing the nature around him, sometimes he brought his cat to keep him company, sometimes he dipped his legs in the water, making small ripples. Maybe the sound of lazy waves dancing gave him some peace of mind.

But what Harry mostly came there for, was to think. 

And Tom knew he was thinking. 

Harry leaned on a tree– or maybe just sprawled around the grass. 

His nose would wrinkle or twitch, eyes narrowed to the sky and lips tugged down into a slight frown. Harry's lips formed words, he talked to himself a lot– his voice was too soft for Tom to catch anything.

He wanted to tear Harry's brain open and just listen because other than the cat, Harry's real friend was the voice of his own head.

In these quiet moments, Harry wasn't tense nor kept himself hidden. He appeared freer than he'll ever be inside a classroom of his classmates.

But occasionally, Tom would catch him staring at thin air– it wasn't one of those usual serious looks or blank ones where he mumbled to no one.

No, he was silent. 

And he looked to be sad.

His feet itched to step closer and asked the boy why.

But Tom didn't, because he only watched.

\--

"His name is Jafaar ."

Tom explored outside the castle and like always, saw Harry drawing a snake near the Great Lake. 

Harry's shoulders tensed and his pencil halted from drawing, he didn't even turn to face Tom, like he already realized it was him. He didn't feel offended though– ever since he decided to talk to the boy, he knew it would take some time to actually hold a conversation with him.

"How did you...?" He suddenly trailed off.

"How did I know?" Tom finished his sentence, "Well, he told me."

Harry appeared to be more confused until the fact that Tom is a parseltongue came into mind. "Where– what is he saying now?" Harry asked, seemingly embarrassed that he stumbled to say his own words.

"He's saying how he ate a mouse yesterday," Tom replied honestly.

"Oh."

Tom sat down beside him, ignoring how Harry slightly scooted away from him. 

He leaned over a bit to take a closer look at the paper. Harry blushed and quickly hid it by pressing the pad into his chest. "I– uhh... it– it's pretty bad." He stuttered. 

He was biting his lips again. The skin was swollen and cracked.

A sudden irritation flared, Tom frowned and grabbed his chin. "Stop doing that, you're ruining your lips." He said. 

Harry blinked in surprise, he turned his head away from Tom's hand and muttered a, "M'sorry."

He stayed quiet and didn't continue his drawing. If he was waiting for Tom to leave, then he'll be sorely disappointed. Tom didn't plan to leave. 

After moments of silence, only accompanied by the sound of water moving, Harry whispered something in his breath.

Tom raised a brow, "What?"

"Why are you here?" Harry snapped his head towards him, a sudden braveness flaring in his face, "Is this some kind of joke?"

"What joke–"

"I–I know you're friends with Draco and L–Lucius. You didn't simply come over here to say hi. S–so when I let my guard down, Draco will come out laughing from the b–bushes!" His expression hardened, "Is that why you're here?"

"I'm not, I just came here for a walk and I saw you sitting alone so I figured you wanted some company."

"Yeah right– y–you don't do anything without a reason, Riddle. What exactly do you want from me?"

"You should calm down, Harry. I only wanted to talk, perhaps even be friends?" Tom slowly said.

A plethora of emotions flickered– confusion, shock, hope before it suddenly morphed into anger. 

This was going bad than Tom expected.

"I don't believe you, you're certainly more of a great liar than I realized." Harry snarled, "Friends? Sure, Riddle. Maybe if you learned to truly care for your actual friends, then maybe I'll believe you then."

Then he left.

\---

March 16, 1995

I decided to name the cat Night–his black fur reminds me of the night (I'm not very creative). Mom said it was fine that I have a cat, I'm glad I got to keep him. The Hufflepuff girl from earlier– her name's Dante, asked me if I could teach her how to draw. 

I wanted to say no, I'm not a good teacher but I was afraid she'll get angry so I said yes. She's patient with me, she lets me calm down to think and calmly tells me to calm down whenever I spoke too fast and forgot to breathe. 

She's learning fast and even drew me a picture. I don't want to assume that we're friends and I'm too embarrassed to ask her if we are. God, I'm pathetic.

Dante Venture, a half-blood from a family of light wizards. She didn't have any special characteristic about herself but she was known to be a gentle student who had a love for cats.

Tom saw them chatting in the library a few times. Dante mostly talked for both of them, Harry only ever nodded and even flashed an occasional smile. 

His grip around the diary tightened. 

After Tom's sore attempt of talking to Harry. The Gryffindor began to avoid him like the plague. Harry didn't spare him a look and scurried off the room before Tom could even let out a breath.

Everyone began to act cautiously around Tom. He felt a sprang of irritation whenever his mind wandered to Harry–

It was only him. Ever since he found that blasted diary. Harry never strayed too far from his mind. He tried pushing all of his frustration in a sack but it ended up exploding right in front of his face

No one asked him what his problem was or more accurately, no one dared to. Not when Cassius decided to be stubborn about it and yelled the truth out of Tom. His tone of voice was demanding. 

Demanding.

Tom made sure to give the boy a piece of the truth alright

He brushed his other thoughts and focused on reading again.

March 26, 1995

Ever since Dante began hanging out with me, her friends started teasing us that we're together. It didn't help that I blushed by what they said (damn it face!). Thankfully, Dante just rolled her eyes and told them to sod off. 

Dante was nice, even pretty and the only one who ever gave a damn about me in this hellhole of a school– admittedly, I do have a crush on her but–

Tom stopped reading. His nails had already dug through the hardcover, he left marks on it for sure but he was too busy controlling his magic from exploding to actually check.

Harry has a crush on Dante. 

This written fact continued to fill in the empty cracks of his head. 

Harry has a crush on Dante.

 ~~His~~ Harry has a crush on ~~that bitch~~ Dante.

\---

The next period would be lunch. 

Tom was waiting for this moment. He counted the seconds left until finally, the class has ended. 

Before the Gryffindor could stand, he reached over and snatched the forearm– he noted how his hand was able to fully wrap around his thin arm, "We should talk." He said.

He used Harry's stunned expression to pull him out of the room, Tom gave his gaping followers a look of warning not to follow him before he left. 

Harry wiggled his arm out of Tom's grasp– the boy was remarkably frail and delicate, if Tom wanted to, he could break his bones without any problem.

Harry realized his fruitless endeavors and simply glowered at Tom, "What's wrong with you?" He asked, trying to keep up with Tom's pace.

They stopped at an empty hallway. Harry snatched his arm back from Tom.

His sharp eyes were tightly glued to his– it was the most attention Harry gave to him for the past two weeks. Tom enjoyed it. He preferred Harry glaring daggers at him over his insisting need to avoid him. 

"I didn't try to trick you on that day." Tom started.

"Then...what did you want?" 

"I want us...to get to know each other." He said. _I already know everything._

There was a pregnant pause. 

Harry's shocked face quickly replaced into anger, "Are you kidding me? Is this another joke?" He snapped.

"It's the truth–"

"Look, Riddle–" 

"It's Tom." He didn't like how his last name sounded out of Harry's mouth.

Harry gave him a scrutinized look, "I don't understand. Y–you suddenly came into my life and wanting to be friends f–for no reason? How can I tell if it's n–not just a joke to you?' 

Tom was getting annoyed with how they were just going circles, "I have something for you."

He pulled out the diary from his robs. 

Harry's eyes sprang open, mouth forming a small o. Pure horror and shock passed over his features, "You...have that?" He murmured. 

"Yes."

He went silent again. 

"D–did you r–read it?"

"...yes." There was no point in sugarcoating it. 

He stood there, only staring at the diary Tom was holding in the air for him. Harry finally snapped over his thoughts and with shaking hands, snatched it out of Tom's hands. 

"Never talk to me again." 

It was cold. Tom tried not to wince, "Look, Harry–"

"Don't call me that."

He didn't raise to look at Tom– no screams of anger, no scowls, nothing. It was like his soul was devoid of anything. He bowed his head to cover his face.

Harry started to leave but Tom gripped his wrist.

"Let me go."

"Not until you look at me."

"You–" Harry snapped his head towards Tom, tears already trailing his cheeks, "Is this what you wanted? To see me cry?" 

Tom saw a hint of blood on his lips but Harry continued assaulting the dry flesh with his teeth. 

"Just—"

Tom hated how Harry averted his eyes.

"Leave–"

_Look at me._

"Me–"

_Harry, look at me._

"Alone."

Tom pulled Harry closer and kissed him.

Out of shock, the diary slipped from Harry's grasp.

A muffled cry left him once Tom collided his lips against his own– Tom already experienced kissing someone, their lips were usually soft and plump while Harry's lips were flaking and rough but despite that, Tom didn't let go.

He licked the boy's lips– the taste of blood filling his senses as a thrum of pleasure ran in his chest when he heard Harry let out a small whine. Small hands gripped tightly around Tom's shoulder, unclipped nails pushing down sharply over his robs. 

Harry didn't open his mouth, he stood there in silent and let Tom moved their lips together. He bit down the Gryffindor's lips hard. This made him gasp and Tom took the chance to push his tongue in. 

A jolt of pain caused Tom to quickly drift back with a hiss and soon tasted copper in his mouth. 

Harry had bit his tongue. 

Tom could only watch Harry hastily grab his diary from the floor and leave. 

\--

Harry didn't head to class the next day.

He caught a fever and was currently resting. 

Tom only half-heartedly listened to the lessons being discussed, he didn't even need to listen– he already studied enough to know most. No, his attention continued to go off and on at the empty seat next to the window.

The touch of scraped lips on his own was still vivid in his mind. It wasn't even a good kiss– it was too rushed out and forced. Harry was too stubborn, moved too much and by the end of it, Tom's bitten tongue made him unable to speak properly that he had gone to the clinic to heal it.

When he was questioned about it, he simply told Madame Pomfrey he accidentally bit his tongue too hard while he was talking– he didn't miss the amusement from her eyes once he finished explaining.

To makes things even worst, Lucius was starting to notice Tom's strange behavior.

"You've been spacing a lot, Tom." 

"I'm not spacing out– it's called thinking, you should try it too." Tom spat, temper slowly degrading– it was worsening each passing day. 

"Thinking about whom?"

Tom peered sharply, "What are you implying?" He asked.

Lucius went a little pale beneath his gaze, "It's just... You've been getting distracted lately and your moods are–" He winced like he was bracing himself, "Not good, to say the least, and I assumed it was because of... Potter."

"And pray tell, what made you draw that conclusion?"

"Well..." The pureblood began to avert his eyes.

"Well?" Tom pushed. 

"I notice that you stare at him. Quite a lot." Lucius finally said, "Sometimes you don't even notice you're doing it. And ever since yesterday, when you talked to Potter, you suddenly became more...uh, angrier?"

Lucius immediately closed his mouth when Tom's gaze hardened. 

What started as a mild fascination, slowly bled into something else entirely– Tom had no clue what it was yet.

"Can I ask you something? If you don't mind, of course." 

A few seconds later, Tom asked, "What?"

"Do you..." He paused for a bit, frowning. Lucius considered his words carefully in hopes to not set off Tom's merciless mood again, "What's your relationship with Potter?" He questioned.

Tears trailing down cheeks. A collision of lips. The taste of blood.

His face remained blank.

"We're nothing."

That was the end of the topic– Lucius was wise enough not to question any further. 

Three days passed. 

Harry came back to class.

\---

Nothing really changed.

Harry avoided Tom, no surprise there.

Like Tom admitted to Lucius, they never had a relationship to begin with– it was the truth, no matter how much Lucius doubted it and Tom hating that it was what it was.

He didn't think a Gryffindor who was barely worth anything frustrated him so much. Tom underestimated everything– people that were secluded and lonely usually held onto someone that showed the slightest of attention to them, Harry certainly did to Dante.

He was weak or at least appeared to be, so Tom imagined it would be easy to make the boy trust him.

But when Tom finally talked to him, Harry was suspicious, angry– sure, his usual company wasn't exactly welcoming to the boy but Tom never outright did anything to him. 

Tom knew Harry was observant but he didn't think he'd be as perceptive either.

He watched Harry in class. Those moments stretched from seconds to double the minutes. Lucius didn't miss them even when Tom made it subtle as possible, for once, Tom wished the Slytherin wasn't so damn observant all the time. Thankfully, he kept his observation to himself.

Harry felt him staring, he scratched his neck more so than usual, feeling the relentless gaze prick his skin. 

The usual spots where Harry liked to hang out– like the Astronomy Room, near the Lake and the Library, he doesn't come there anymore.

Tom had checked plenty of times.

\--

He dealt with Draco. 

Turns out, he began to gradually hate the younger Malfoy. 

He didn't use to hate him in this degree, but even then, he never found his presence to be enlightening either– unlike Lucius, who at least had a brain and didn't show off every ten minutes, Tom tolerated Draco. 

But now, he can't even stand the sight of him. 

His insides turned at the sight of his smirk, how he posed himself like he was high and mighty– Tom just wanted to rip his face off. 

Despite how he really, really wanted to. Acting out these thoughts without providing a reason would result to questions and maybe even unwanted rumors, Tom has already opened enough can of worms for him to handle.

But then he saw Draco screwing with Harry again. 

He was about to turn and leave.

He already decided that Harry wasn't worth anything. Decided to forget him.

"What you got here, Potter?" Draco waved a book– the diary, in front of the Gryffindor. 

"Give it back, Malfoy!" Harry tried to snatch it but Goyle and Crabbe grabbed his arms, caging him still. 

"Whoa, you're an artist? How come you've never shown us your hidden talent?" Draco smirked, "It'll be a shame if something happened to it–"

Harry kicked Draco in the stomach. 

Baffled, his grip with the diary almost slipped and Draco almost kneeled down to his knees by the pain, "You little..." He hissed, "Finally becoming a little brave, huh? I guess that damn hat knew what he was doing after all. Let's see how brave you can be once I'm done with you."

Harry only spat on his face, "Fuck you."

Draco pointed his wand to Harry and–

"Terrorizing a student already, Malfoy? On such a beautiful day? I think you need to find a better hobby." 

His sly smirk dropped down into an annoyed frown, Draco was about to talk back but when he realized it was Tom, he thought better and shut his mouth. 

Crabbe and Goyle eyed the other direction, too scared to even look at him.

"Riddle– it's a surprise to see you–"

"I'm sure you are, and unless you don't drop that arm of yours, I'll show you an even bigger surprise." Tom smiled wickedly, "and I won't promise your arm will stay intact to your shoulder by the end of it."

He didn't face Harry but no doubt, the Gryffindor was gaping at him, eyes widening. Gradually, Draco did lowered his wand. 

"You know, I'm feeling nice today– I'll let you skedaddle on your own and if I'm generous, I won't even report this to the Headmaster, in exchange," He turned to serious, "Never talk to Harry again."

"Why?" Draco asked, eyes narrowing, "Don't tell me you care about him?"

Tom stepped closer, placing a tight hold on his shoulder. Draco winced, "Not at all." He whispered, tone soft, "Instead, I don't like how you lay your hands on him. I'm the only one who can touch him, hold him, or hurt him."

He let his magic spiral, making sure Draco can feel how it's being pointed at him like a knife.

"And if you touch him again– this time, I won't be so kind." His gaze met Harry's for a moment before stepping away.

Swallowing, Draco slowly nodded, passing the diary to Tom with shaky hands.

The two boys swiftly removed their arms that trapped Harry– Tom's skin irked by how much they were touching Harry, then scampered off when they noticed the prefect staring at them with a dark look.

Draco stared venomously at Harry for a smoldering minute, until he finally walked away. 

Harry anxiously eyed the diary on Tom's hand. Snorting, he gave it to him.

Hesitating, Harry grabbed it from Tom and hugged it in his chest. "Why did you...do that?" He asked.

Shrugging, Tom replied, "Believe it or not, I don't want to see you get hurt." _They were touching you, I should've burned their hands for that,_ he didn't say.

"... you've never done that before. What changed?"

"Not avoiding me now, huh?"

Harry remained quiet before starting to walk.

"We should talk." Tom quickly said.

Harry stopped.

"Let me explain. I'll tell you what you want to know."

He looked back to Tom, biting his lips, eyes clouded with doubt.

"I won't touch you, I promise."

A minute of consideration later.

"Okay."

\---

"You actually came."

Harry gaped at Tom like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"You thought I was lying?" He cocked a brow.

"No, I didn't think you were serious." Harry didn't explain further and started to walk across the tapestry, Tom followed him just beside. 

There was an invisible barrier between them, Harry walked in a short distance and Tom simply let it slide, he already promised not to touch Harry. 

"Are we going to the Room of Requirement?"

Harry blinked, "You know?"

"I do."

When a door appeared, they headed inside. It was a standard living room, there was a couch, a carpet sprawled around the floor with a warm fire crackling inside the hearth.

Harry sat at the edge of the couch, Tom decided to respect the distance Harry wanted and sat inches away from him.

Tom glanced at Harry, the boy was fidgeting again with his hands. 

He felt a prick of irritation once he noticed Harry was biting his lips again. He really needed to stop this nasty habit of his.

"You do that a lot." 

Tom's attention moved away from his lips, "Do what?" He asked.

"Stare at me." His green eyes were glued to the fire, "I used to think I was imagining things but I realized that wasn't the case."

"I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable." Not that Tom cared.

"I didn't think I was that distracting, I try not to be recognized, how come I got your attention?" Harry looked at Tom.

"Is that what you wanted to know?"

"That's not my only question, foremost, I want to know why you stole my diary."

"Because I was curious and I didn't intentionally steal it, I just found it."

"You still stole it!" Harry glared.

"I'm sorry." 

"...why did you kiss me?"

"You were leaving–"

A flush reached Harry's cheeks, embarrassed and angry, "T–that's not a good reason either!" 

"I'm sorry." Tom repeated, his apology sounding more insincere than the previous.

Harry pressed his lips together, "Stop saying sorry. I know you don't mean it." He murmured, "So far, your reasons were all stupid."

"I said I would be honest."

"You just do whatever you want, don't you?"

"Well, what do you want?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"It could."

"Fine." Harry said, hands clenching his robs, "What if I told you that I want to have nothing to do with you? For you to leave me alone? Pretend I don't exist? Will you do that?"

It was funny how Tom did try to do just that. From how he was sitting here in a room with Harry, you can imagine how well that turned out.

He doesn't think he can. At least not right now. Maybe a month, or a year, or a decade, he will be able to get over this overly fascination– or better yet, he could forget about Harry altogether.

But now? Now that he was sitting in this room with Harry– Harry whom Tom wished didn't have to be so damn stubborn. To want him so bad he couldn't think straight, to want him to stop avoiding him _and look at me while I talk to you look at me–_

No, Tom can't.

"I would...try." He hated how his own words didn't sound as confident as he imagined.

Harry bowed his head slightly, "Do you meant what you said?"

"Said what?" 

"At that time in the lake. About how we could be friends?"

He didn't think Harry would hold onto those words but it made sense, he was a loner after all. 

Tom wanted Harry– that was obvious. But did he want him as a friend?

Friends– they were meant to be kept close, right? And Tom wanted Harry to be close to him, perhaps...

After a few moments passed, Tom said, "I do."

Quickly, Harry turned to face Tom, shadows creeping from the side of his face but his eyes were wide and glossy and brimming with hope, he said, "Really? Despite the fact that I'm a freak and weird-"

"You're not weird," Tom cut in, "You're...you."

His reply was enough to make Harry smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Open ending?
> 
> Ofc Tom would say it's a fascination– pfft, he'll never admit having a crush to someone. 
> 
> I'm not sure if this is going to have a sequel but I guess you'll just have to wait.


End file.
